Scripture reading: John 1:43-51 (Appointed for Jan 30)
I began last week's devotional with a mea culpa about the previous week's lack of a devotional reading. What I had planned for that absent week was to talk about Deborah in the book of Judges (specifically Judges 4:1-9). I was going to speak of how God often does the unexpected; calling forth into his service those the people think are least able or least worthy of it.
Deborah is no exception to that. After all, it's really only been in the last few decades (and the work is still far from done) that women have been regarded as equal to men. Yet here is a story from thousands of years ago where a woman leads the people of God to victory in battle.
This is hardly the only time God does this sort of thing. Again and again, countless times, God calls the least-likely to do extraordinary things for his Kingdom.
Which brings us to our reading from John and our discovery that Jesus himself was regarded as a surprise by many who encountered him.
"Can anything good come out of Nazareth?"
We all encountered people like Nathaniel. Snobs. The snooty. People who believe themselves above it all. The too-cool-for-school crowd. When Nathaniel hears that the Messiah comes out of some backwater town like Nazareth, he cannot believe it.
I can't imagine what he would think if he heard the full story of Jesus' birth. "Yes, he really was born in a barn."
I am convinced God loves to take people like this down a peg or two, but not in a harsh or unkind way. What God wants is for us to open our eyes and minds, to recognize that things aren't always as we believe them to be. And that's precisely what happens to Nathaniel. Once he meets Jesus, once he hears him speak, he comes to realize just how wrong he was. Yes, something good DID come out of Nazareth. The Christ himself.
We walk through our lives often thinking we've got this whole God thing figured out. But that's very much so arrogant presumption. God's always full of surprises. You never know who or what God might use to shake us out of our complacency. We never stop learning. We never stop growing. God is always showing us something new, about him, about our world, about the people around us. There is wonder here unimagined, right in front of us, if only we could see it.
Time and again, I am convinced that one of God's goals with us is for us to see this world and its people through his eyes. To view them with his love. When and if that happens, do you really think the things we hold up as so important will matter any more? Gender? Politics? Race? Sexual orientation? We are made imago dei, in the image of God, and he loves all of us beyond words.
Perhaps that's the greatest surprise of all.
Thursday, January 28, 2016
Saturday, January 23, 2016
Sermon for Third Sunday after Epiphany
Not preached publicly due to snow emergency. Scheduled for January 24, 2016
Scripture text: Luke 4:14-21
It was one of those moments that sticks with you forever. When I was in seminary, there were three professors who stood above all others (in a solid field) as the best preachers: Wengert, Robinson, and Lathrop. Dr. Lathrop was my faculty advisor and a world-renowned expert on liturgy and worship. He had the stereotypical look of a college professor: white hair, beard, soft-spoken voice. But you knew when he got in that pulpit that you were going to be challenged. You were going to be edified. You were going to learn something and you were going to be inspired. Everything that a sermon is meant to do he could pull off in droves.
And this was his day in chapel. He stood up. Walked with great solemn dignity to the pulpit. He read the Gospel lesson. We said our responses. “Glory to you, O Lord” and all that. And then, he began to preach. He said one sentence...and sat down.
Now having built up this tale, I am now embarrassed to admit that I don’t remember what his one sentence was. I don’t think anyone who was there that day remembers exactly what he said, because we were all so astounded. How do you preach a sermon that’s only one sentence long?
Well, regardless, Dr. Lathrop is in good company. Because the one sentence sermon seems to be something Jesus himself invented. It’s precisely what he does in our Gospel lesson today. He gets up into whatever-the-first-century-synagogue-used-in-lieu-of-a-pulpit and reads from the Scriptures. And then he says one sentence, “Today, this Scripture is fulfilled in your hearing,” and sits down.
Today this Scripture is fulfilled in your hearing. Mic drop. Thud.
There’s something hilarious about this, but it is also the truth! This passage from Isaiah chapter 61 reads like a mission statement. Here is what I have come to do! I am here to bind up the broken-hearted. I am here to proclaim freedom to those in captivity. I am here to give sight to the blind. Make the lame to walk. I am here to save the world and IT HAS BEGUN!
Mic drop. Nothing more needs be said.
Because what does Jesus do but go from this synagogue out into the world and do precisely what that Isaiah text says. He goes into the villages and heals the sick. He casts out demons. He goes out into the plains and the hills and preaches good news, tells people about what God is doing. About how he loves them all.
You know, we’ve made this religion thing way too complicated. This is what it’s really about. It’s about what Jesus does. It’s about what Jesus says. And what it all means for us. Sometimes we’re the captive and we need set free. Sometimes we’re the blind and we need our sight. Sometimes we’re the broken-hearted and we need comfort.
But also at other times, it’s the person next to us who is in captivity and we must liberate them. Sometimes it’s the person next to us who is lame and we must help them walk. Sometimes it’s they who are broken-hearted and we must offer our shoulder for them to cry upon.
That’s all this really is. That’s the life of faith in a nutshell. That’s Jesus in a nutshell. That’s us as his disciples.
You don’t need much more than a single sentence. “Today, this Scripture is fulfilled in your hearing.” It still is, because God is still at work doing these things. And so too are we.
What else needs be said? God is at work, saving the world through Christ. He calls us to help him, to be his hands, his voice, his ear. That’s why we’re here. That’s who we are. That’s what we’re about. Amen.
Scripture text: Luke 4:14-21
It was one of those moments that sticks with you forever. When I was in seminary, there were three professors who stood above all others (in a solid field) as the best preachers: Wengert, Robinson, and Lathrop. Dr. Lathrop was my faculty advisor and a world-renowned expert on liturgy and worship. He had the stereotypical look of a college professor: white hair, beard, soft-spoken voice. But you knew when he got in that pulpit that you were going to be challenged. You were going to be edified. You were going to learn something and you were going to be inspired. Everything that a sermon is meant to do he could pull off in droves.
Dr. Lathrop and I at my seminary graduation.
And this was his day in chapel. He stood up. Walked with great solemn dignity to the pulpit. He read the Gospel lesson. We said our responses. “Glory to you, O Lord” and all that. And then, he began to preach. He said one sentence...and sat down.
Now having built up this tale, I am now embarrassed to admit that I don’t remember what his one sentence was. I don’t think anyone who was there that day remembers exactly what he said, because we were all so astounded. How do you preach a sermon that’s only one sentence long?
Well, regardless, Dr. Lathrop is in good company. Because the one sentence sermon seems to be something Jesus himself invented. It’s precisely what he does in our Gospel lesson today. He gets up into whatever-the-first-century-synagogue-used-in-lieu-of-a-pulpit and reads from the Scriptures. And then he says one sentence, “Today, this Scripture is fulfilled in your hearing,” and sits down.
Today this Scripture is fulfilled in your hearing. Mic drop. Thud.
There’s something hilarious about this, but it is also the truth! This passage from Isaiah chapter 61 reads like a mission statement. Here is what I have come to do! I am here to bind up the broken-hearted. I am here to proclaim freedom to those in captivity. I am here to give sight to the blind. Make the lame to walk. I am here to save the world and IT HAS BEGUN!
Mic drop. Nothing more needs be said.
Because what does Jesus do but go from this synagogue out into the world and do precisely what that Isaiah text says. He goes into the villages and heals the sick. He casts out demons. He goes out into the plains and the hills and preaches good news, tells people about what God is doing. About how he loves them all.
You know, we’ve made this religion thing way too complicated. This is what it’s really about. It’s about what Jesus does. It’s about what Jesus says. And what it all means for us. Sometimes we’re the captive and we need set free. Sometimes we’re the blind and we need our sight. Sometimes we’re the broken-hearted and we need comfort.
But also at other times, it’s the person next to us who is in captivity and we must liberate them. Sometimes it’s the person next to us who is lame and we must help them walk. Sometimes it’s they who are broken-hearted and we must offer our shoulder for them to cry upon.
That’s all this really is. That’s the life of faith in a nutshell. That’s Jesus in a nutshell. That’s us as his disciples.
You don’t need much more than a single sentence. “Today, this Scripture is fulfilled in your hearing.” It still is, because God is still at work doing these things. And so too are we.
What else needs be said? God is at work, saving the world through Christ. He calls us to help him, to be his hands, his voice, his ear. That’s why we’re here. That’s who we are. That’s what we’re about. Amen.
Thursday, January 21, 2016
Weekly Devotional for January 17
Scripture text: Luke 7:17-23
I'm going to begin today with a "mea culpa." I did not post a devotional last week, partly due to being absent-minded, but also partly because I just wasn't "there" spiritually. We've all gone through that from time to time, when life's troubles overshadow us. Times when things aren't going so well. Times when life just gets hard and we just down.
I know it's a bit verboten to admit, but we pastors go through it too. I know popular perception is that we're somehow paragons of the faith. We never doubt. We never question. We stand atop our pedestals as a model to emulate. But it's simply not true. We stumble. We struggle. Just like everyone else.
And that's one of the reasons when I'm in one of these moments of spiritual melancholy that I love this story from Luke's Gospel. It begins with John the Baptist in prison. Things in his life have definitely gone south in a big way. And John sends disciples to Jesus to inquire "Are you the real deal?"
Now wait a minute. This is John the Baptist. This is same fellow who even before he was born leaped in his mother's womb when Mary (pregnant with Jesus) came to visit. He probably grew up with Jesus. They probably played together as children. In fact, it's easy to argue that of all the people in the world, the only person who knows Jesus better than John is Mary. John knows Jesus backwards and forwards. How can he doubt who is cousin is and what he's about?
The answer to that is easier than we might care to admit. Life hasn't exactly worked out the way John expected. He's in prison. His ministry has fallen apart. He's probably depressed. He's probably feeling a bit lost. Things that were once certain to him are no longer. Everything that John ever believed is now in question.
The greatest prophet of all time (by Jesus' own reckoning) is struggling with doubt. If he can, who of us can't?
Jesus takes the question that John's disciples convey to him in stride. "Go and tell what you see." It's the perfect answer to John's dilemma. For what do those disciples witness but the blind receiving their sight, the poor hearing good news, the lame walking, the lepers are healed. They see the Kingdom of God in-breaking upon our world. They see the very thing John predicted was coming.
Doubt, struggle, melancholy, depression are real, of course, but one thing they do is often blind us to the truth. Jesus' response to John's disciples is to open their eyes (and, in turn, his) to what was truly happening. We are no different. Our lives may stumble from time to time, but the world keeps turning and God keeps working. The Kingdom continues to break in upon our world. It's still out there, doing what it does: transforming our world from what it is to what it is meant to be.
Martin Luther King, whose life we celebrated earlier this week, once said the "arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends towards justice." It does indeed. For us at times, it may seem that it takes far too long, but the Kingdom is coming. Good will overcome. God will triumph. Even if we do not see it, it is still coming. Have faith. Hold fast. The universe is turning to align with God's plan. Trust in that. Amen.
I'm going to begin today with a "mea culpa." I did not post a devotional last week, partly due to being absent-minded, but also partly because I just wasn't "there" spiritually. We've all gone through that from time to time, when life's troubles overshadow us. Times when things aren't going so well. Times when life just gets hard and we just down.
I know it's a bit verboten to admit, but we pastors go through it too. I know popular perception is that we're somehow paragons of the faith. We never doubt. We never question. We stand atop our pedestals as a model to emulate. But it's simply not true. We stumble. We struggle. Just like everyone else.
And that's one of the reasons when I'm in one of these moments of spiritual melancholy that I love this story from Luke's Gospel. It begins with John the Baptist in prison. Things in his life have definitely gone south in a big way. And John sends disciples to Jesus to inquire "Are you the real deal?"
Now wait a minute. This is John the Baptist. This is same fellow who even before he was born leaped in his mother's womb when Mary (pregnant with Jesus) came to visit. He probably grew up with Jesus. They probably played together as children. In fact, it's easy to argue that of all the people in the world, the only person who knows Jesus better than John is Mary. John knows Jesus backwards and forwards. How can he doubt who is cousin is and what he's about?
The answer to that is easier than we might care to admit. Life hasn't exactly worked out the way John expected. He's in prison. His ministry has fallen apart. He's probably depressed. He's probably feeling a bit lost. Things that were once certain to him are no longer. Everything that John ever believed is now in question.
The greatest prophet of all time (by Jesus' own reckoning) is struggling with doubt. If he can, who of us can't?
Jesus takes the question that John's disciples convey to him in stride. "Go and tell what you see." It's the perfect answer to John's dilemma. For what do those disciples witness but the blind receiving their sight, the poor hearing good news, the lame walking, the lepers are healed. They see the Kingdom of God in-breaking upon our world. They see the very thing John predicted was coming.
Doubt, struggle, melancholy, depression are real, of course, but one thing they do is often blind us to the truth. Jesus' response to John's disciples is to open their eyes (and, in turn, his) to what was truly happening. We are no different. Our lives may stumble from time to time, but the world keeps turning and God keeps working. The Kingdom continues to break in upon our world. It's still out there, doing what it does: transforming our world from what it is to what it is meant to be.
Martin Luther King, whose life we celebrated earlier this week, once said the "arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends towards justice." It does indeed. For us at times, it may seem that it takes far too long, but the Kingdom is coming. Good will overcome. God will triumph. Even if we do not see it, it is still coming. Have faith. Hold fast. The universe is turning to align with God's plan. Trust in that. Amen.
Tuesday, January 19, 2016
Sermon for the Second Sunday after Epiphany
Preached at Canadochly Lutheran Church on January 17, 2016
Scripture text: John 2:1-11
Some years ago, we pastors in Davis took our combined youth groups from the mountains to the not-so-big city of Charleston, WV to “Winterjam.” Winterjam is a traveling Christian festival that performs each weekend in a different city in the country throughout the winter months. It features Christians rock bands and speakers, preaching and worship. The whole nine yards. It’s a big production and a lot of fun for the kids.
As we joined into the crowds, thousands of us, marching inside the venue for this event, we all noted two people standing outside in the cold holding signs and placards. “Christian rock is the music of the devil.” Put not your faith in these musicians. They will lead you astray.
All I could do was eye-roll. Although I’ll confess I was very tempted to do more. I’m curious how this Depeche-Mode-fan (hardly the epitome of “Christian” music, since the bandmates are atheists) who’s also a preacher and who also probably knows the Scriptures better than they do would fare in a battle of wits with these protesters. I refrained however. But it was tempting to knock these guys down a peg or two.
There has always been this strain in Christianity that anything that feels good must by definition be evil and of the devil. Christians who believe this stuff I swear must be allergic to fun or something. We can’t sing that song. It’s too upbeat. We can’t dance. We can’t play games. We can’t party. We can’t feast. We can’t enjoy ourselves. And God forbid any loving couple enjoys the pleasures of the marriage bed. It’s all of the devil I tell you. Fun is forbidden!
I’ve been critical of the Church in my sermons of late and much of that criticism is related to this sort of thing. We’ve turned the Bride of Christ into a moral scold; its purpose to shake a disapproving finger at anything and everything in society that might be seen as unrighteous or immoral. We’ve been this way for a long time, largely because we’ve allowed Christians like these protesters to run the show. And what’s been lost in the meantime is our true purpose: to spread the Gospel and to reveal God’s kingdom of love and mercy to the world.
Now if there is ever a passage of Scripture that these anti-fun Christians would abhor, it has to be today’s Gospel lesson: the wedding of Cana. Jesus is at a party. He’s at a wedding feast. He eating and he’s drinking and he’s hanging out with his family and his disciples and he’s having a good time. That’s what you’re supposed to do at a wedding feast. It’s not that different today. When a couple gets married in this day and age, they have a reception and it’s often with food and drink and dancing and music and toasts and celebration and a lot of fun.
Jesus having fun! What could possibly be more anathema to these anti-fun Christians than that. Well, let me tell you, it gets better still.
Somewhere along the line, as we know from the story, the wine runs out. Jesus is approached by Mary, his mother, to do something about it. And while he’s a little reluctant at first, Jesus eventually caves and gives instructions to the servants about what to do. The miracle happens. The wine flows and the party continues.
You see, not only does Jesus enjoy this party but he performs his first miracle here on Earth in order to keep said party going...and going...and going. Energizer Bunny like. The evangelist John makes very clear just how much wine Jesus makes. Six jars holding 20-30 gallons of water each. Do the math. He made upwards of 180 gallons of wine. That’s one heck of a party.
The Evangelist, as is his wont, calls this event a sign. Signs point to things and Jesus’ miracles in all the Gospels are meant to be little snippets of what the Kingdom is really like. A party that has more wine than anyone could ever reasonably drink and the best vintage at that. What does that say about what God wants for his people?
There’s an old story about a preacher giving a children’s sermon about heaven. One little girl, in a bright pink flowery dress, looks at the pastor and deadpan tells him “I don’t want to go to heaven.” The pastor is flabbergasted; how could anyone not want to go to heaven? The girl explained. “All they ever do in heaven is sit around in white dresses and play harps. That’s BORING!”
Well, if that’s what heaven is, I don’t blame that little girl. I don’t think I’d want that either. But I also don’t think it’s anything like that. Jesus’ miracle at Cana shows us otherwise. Heaven is a party, one that lasts forever. Joy eternal. Now that I can sign on for.
But the Church is meant to reflect that reality and we here on Earth need to remember that Christianity is not supposed to be dull or trite or boring. This is a place of celebration, of joy, of fun. We echo the reality beyond. We are here to show the world that it is God’s pleasure to give us pleasure, whether it be in the wonder of music, the beauty of his creation, the comfort of good friends, family, and a loving spouse.
God does want us to be happy. He hates it when the burdens and trials of life make us not so. To that end, this is also a place of solace. A place where we can cry out our deepest despair and yet do so in the hope that the pain of this world is but temporary. We come here for comfort. We come here for joy. We come here for hope.
And Jesus delivers. In his miracles, then and now. The healing of the sick. The wonder of a rainbow. The power of a perfect chord. The cry of a baby. The stone rolling away. All of it is meant to give us joy and hope against a dark world. A party that will go on forever. Amen.
Scripture text: John 2:1-11
Some years ago, we pastors in Davis took our combined youth groups from the mountains to the not-so-big city of Charleston, WV to “Winterjam.” Winterjam is a traveling Christian festival that performs each weekend in a different city in the country throughout the winter months. It features Christians rock bands and speakers, preaching and worship. The whole nine yards. It’s a big production and a lot of fun for the kids.
As we joined into the crowds, thousands of us, marching inside the venue for this event, we all noted two people standing outside in the cold holding signs and placards. “Christian rock is the music of the devil.” Put not your faith in these musicians. They will lead you astray.
Not quite the same group, but a similar one troubling students at DePauw University
All I could do was eye-roll. Although I’ll confess I was very tempted to do more. I’m curious how this Depeche-Mode-fan (hardly the epitome of “Christian” music, since the bandmates are atheists) who’s also a preacher and who also probably knows the Scriptures better than they do would fare in a battle of wits with these protesters. I refrained however. But it was tempting to knock these guys down a peg or two.
There has always been this strain in Christianity that anything that feels good must by definition be evil and of the devil. Christians who believe this stuff I swear must be allergic to fun or something. We can’t sing that song. It’s too upbeat. We can’t dance. We can’t play games. We can’t party. We can’t feast. We can’t enjoy ourselves. And God forbid any loving couple enjoys the pleasures of the marriage bed. It’s all of the devil I tell you. Fun is forbidden!
I’ve been critical of the Church in my sermons of late and much of that criticism is related to this sort of thing. We’ve turned the Bride of Christ into a moral scold; its purpose to shake a disapproving finger at anything and everything in society that might be seen as unrighteous or immoral. We’ve been this way for a long time, largely because we’ve allowed Christians like these protesters to run the show. And what’s been lost in the meantime is our true purpose: to spread the Gospel and to reveal God’s kingdom of love and mercy to the world.
Now if there is ever a passage of Scripture that these anti-fun Christians would abhor, it has to be today’s Gospel lesson: the wedding of Cana. Jesus is at a party. He’s at a wedding feast. He eating and he’s drinking and he’s hanging out with his family and his disciples and he’s having a good time. That’s what you’re supposed to do at a wedding feast. It’s not that different today. When a couple gets married in this day and age, they have a reception and it’s often with food and drink and dancing and music and toasts and celebration and a lot of fun.
Jesus having fun! What could possibly be more anathema to these anti-fun Christians than that. Well, let me tell you, it gets better still.
Somewhere along the line, as we know from the story, the wine runs out. Jesus is approached by Mary, his mother, to do something about it. And while he’s a little reluctant at first, Jesus eventually caves and gives instructions to the servants about what to do. The miracle happens. The wine flows and the party continues.
You see, not only does Jesus enjoy this party but he performs his first miracle here on Earth in order to keep said party going...and going...and going. Energizer Bunny like. The evangelist John makes very clear just how much wine Jesus makes. Six jars holding 20-30 gallons of water each. Do the math. He made upwards of 180 gallons of wine. That’s one heck of a party.
The Evangelist, as is his wont, calls this event a sign. Signs point to things and Jesus’ miracles in all the Gospels are meant to be little snippets of what the Kingdom is really like. A party that has more wine than anyone could ever reasonably drink and the best vintage at that. What does that say about what God wants for his people?
There’s an old story about a preacher giving a children’s sermon about heaven. One little girl, in a bright pink flowery dress, looks at the pastor and deadpan tells him “I don’t want to go to heaven.” The pastor is flabbergasted; how could anyone not want to go to heaven? The girl explained. “All they ever do in heaven is sit around in white dresses and play harps. That’s BORING!”
Well, if that’s what heaven is, I don’t blame that little girl. I don’t think I’d want that either. But I also don’t think it’s anything like that. Jesus’ miracle at Cana shows us otherwise. Heaven is a party, one that lasts forever. Joy eternal. Now that I can sign on for.
But the Church is meant to reflect that reality and we here on Earth need to remember that Christianity is not supposed to be dull or trite or boring. This is a place of celebration, of joy, of fun. We echo the reality beyond. We are here to show the world that it is God’s pleasure to give us pleasure, whether it be in the wonder of music, the beauty of his creation, the comfort of good friends, family, and a loving spouse.
God does want us to be happy. He hates it when the burdens and trials of life make us not so. To that end, this is also a place of solace. A place where we can cry out our deepest despair and yet do so in the hope that the pain of this world is but temporary. We come here for comfort. We come here for joy. We come here for hope.
And Jesus delivers. In his miracles, then and now. The healing of the sick. The wonder of a rainbow. The power of a perfect chord. The cry of a baby. The stone rolling away. All of it is meant to give us joy and hope against a dark world. A party that will go on forever. Amen.
Monday, January 11, 2016
Sermon for Fourth Epiphany 2007
Preached at St. John's Lutheran Church, Davis, WV on January 28, 2007
Scripture texts: 1 Corinthians 13:1-13, Luke 4:21-30Author's Note: This is something of a moment of whimsy, I'll admit. But when I heard the news of the passing of David Bowie, I was reminded of the time I used Bowie's duet with Queen "Under Pressure" as a sermon illustration. So I decided to dig this old sermon out and post it.
It is not entirely ironic that these same texts are coming up again on January 31 of this year and while it is tempting to recycle this sermon in light of Bowie's passing, I will probably do something different (and likely still use this song.)
RIP to the master.
---If you’re like me, you enjoy music. You listen to the radio, you have a CD player (or one of its predecessors) in your home. Now most music you hear on any of those devices, whether it be rock-n-roll, country, rap, or something else, is about one thing: love. Nearly every song is a love song.
Now these song writers all define love very differently. Sometimes they sing about love of family or love of our country, but most, of course, write about romantic love between two people. Even still, they are not all agreed on what exactly love is. For some, it is passionate, fiery, and often short-lived, for others it is something that lasts forever, unending, unchanging. Others say it is something in between, and still others say it is all of the above. I would be inclined to that last answer myself. Love is such a complicated thing, part emotion, part state-of-mind, part something else, that it has baffled all of us for countless ages.
As if entering into that very fray, we have St. Paul and the famous 13th chapter of 1 Corinthians. Here is yet another answer to the question “What is love?” Now while this passage is often quoted at weddings, I suspect Paul has a broader intent behind why he writes these words than to provide flowery language for one’s wedding day.
Love is patient; love is kind; love is not envious or boastful or arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice in wrongdoing, but rejoices in the truth. It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.When you really start to take this passage apart, when you really start to delve into what Paul is telling us about love, you quickly come to realize that this is a hugely challenging passage. This is not a sentimental text, despite its popular usage. This is a passage with real power and deep meaning.
You see, Paul’s intent is to inform that this is God’s love and it is the love God expects of his people.
That seems simple on the surface. But again, as you dig a little deeper, you quickly realize that this is a tall order. Love that is patient, kind, not envious, not arrogant, rejoicing in the right, bearing all things, enduring all things. This love is dangerous. This love will get you in trouble.
Don’t believe me? Let’s take a look at our Gospel text for this Sunday. We’re picking up right where we left off from last week. Remember last Sunday was the story of Jesus’ homecoming to Nazareth, and how he gets up in the synagogue and reads from Isaiah:
“The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.”Then Jesus sits down again and tells everyone, “Today, this Scripture is fulfilled in your hearing.” And everyone praises and applauds the home town boy and reminisces about him.
But Jesus doesn’t simply leave it at that. You see, that passage in Isaiah is about love. It’s about love for the poor, the stranger, the captive, those who are outcast and outsiders. And when the people are too busy fawning over the boy he used to be to hear what he is trying to say, he makes it absolutely clear. Remember Naaman, general of Syria? Remember the widow of Zaraphath? Outsiders that you hate, yet God loved them and showed them mercy. Don’t ask for miracles and for healing. Go instead and be that healing for others. Go and love.
That is what Jesus says to the people of Nazareth. He asks them to love those they consider unlovable. He asks them to stop “insisting upon their own way,” and to instead be “kind” and work for righteousness.
Now, like I said, this love is dangerous, because this is love without bounds. This is love that does not discriminate. But people do have bounds and people do discriminate and when the people of Nazareth hear, and really hear, what Jesus is saying, they become angry, furious even. So angry and so furious that they threaten to throw Jesus off a cliff. They make to kill him because he asked them to love those that they hated.
And so it will be with us, if we dare to love as Jesus loves. If we dare to look beyond human prejudices and hatred and see others as God does. Not as enemies, not as threats, not as inferior, but as brothers and sisters, as fellow human beings like us, with the same hopes and desires and dreams. If we dare to do as Jesus asks that congregation in Nazareth, dare to love the unlovable, then others will hate us for it.
But do not be discouraged when this is so. Do not falter when these things take place. Remember the waters of baptism and what they mean, that no matter what venom is spewed at you, no matter what slander and hatred you endure, that God has chosen you to be his own, that he will always love you, and he will never abandon you. It’s a love that sent Jesus to this world to live for you, and it’s a love that went to a cross to die for you, and it is also a love that rose again for you. You are important to God. You are precious to God. He will never forsake you. Let others rage. You are a child of God and nothing they say or do can change that.
It’s funny sometimes how you can find Gospel in the unlikeliest of places and how you can also hear a song a thousand times and never hear its message. Back in the 80s, the rock band Queen had a song called “Under Pressure.” It’s lyrics conclude with the following
Cause love's such an old fashioned wordYou are a child of God. You are loved. Love as you have been loved. Amen.
And love dares you to care
For the people on the edge of the night
And love dares you to change our way
Of caring about ourselves
Sermon for the Baptism of our Lord
Preached at Canadochly Lutheran Church on January 10, 2016
Scripture texts: Isaiah 43:1-7, Luke 3:15-22
“How many Lutherans does it take to change a light bulb?” How many?
Change? We’re Lutherans. We don’t change.
It’s an old joke and one I imagine most every denomination of the Christian religion has a variation on. It is one of those great ironies of history that the Church became this bastion of conservative thought. Now I don’t mean “conservative” in a political sense like we usually hear in this election year, but rather in its literal form: a longing or eagerness to maintain the status quo. To keep things as they are. To do it “the way we’ve always done it.”
That’s not what the Church was meant to be. That’s not what Christianity was supposed to be about. That’s not what God’s about. His plan for our world was hardly “Let’s leave everything exactly the same as it was.” No, God’s been about transformation, about renewal, about regeneration, resurrection. In short, he’s about change.
Take our Isaiah text for instance. One of the great prophecies of God’s grace. God declares to his people their restoration. He will bring them from the lands far away and make them his own once more. He will protect them from all danger. He will give them the wealth and the respect of the nations. Does any of that sound like business as usual? Does it sound like keeping things the same?
No, God is on the move. He’s taking his people from exile. He’s giving them back what they’ve lost. He standing by them in the midst of trials. This is upheaval. This is transformation. This is change writ large. Because with God, you often don’t do things small. It’s “go big or go home.”
Today is the festival of our Lord’s Baptism. There is a long standing point about why Jesus chose to be baptized by John. The Gospels however give us those answers. They tell us what this is really about and what it’s about is God’s changing the world yet again.
In Matthew’s version of the story, John asks Jesus direct why he’s there and Jesus answers with the somewhat cryptic “it is proper for us in this way to fulfill all righteousness.” What does Jesus mean by that?
Luke’s version of the story, which we have today, may give us the answer. John the Baptist has spent a good dozen or so verses before our text today telling the people to change their ways (there’s that word again.) To repent. To live life in service to others. To give generously. To treat other with kindness and respect. And then along comes Jesus, claiming he’s there to fulfill all righteousness.
He’s come to do what John has asked of the people: To live his life for the sake of others. For the sake of all. To give himself as example to follow. To do perfectly what we cannot do and by doing so, change the world.
And he does just that. He goes from here into his ministry. He heals the sick, gives the blind the sight, makes the lame to walk. Hardly leaving things the status quo. To goes to the mountainside and into the plains and teaches vast crowds of people, telling them to trust in God, reminding them that God is working to transform the world for the better. He welcomes into his midst those the world has rejected, the sinner, the tax collector, the prostitute. He stands up to the old order, revealing their hypocrisies. Everywhere he goes, he changes things.
Even to the very cross. There goes to defeat death and sin forever. There he goes to break the worst part of our broken world. There he goes to win life out of death. There’s no status quo in the shadow of the cross or the empty tomb of Easter. EVERYTHING has changed.
When we bring our children to this font, we don’t just come to hear the promise of God, that he has claimed us as his own. That’s important, make no mistake. But we also come to make a pledge of our own. We claim we will raise these children in the life of faith. We promise to make of them, as best we can, good and faithful Christians. We make a promise and we dedicate ourselves to the fulfillment of that promise.
Jesus baptism, in that regard, is no different. He too comes to make a promise. He comes to promise to us that he will not leave us where we were. He will not leave the world as it was. He has come to transform everything. He has come to put right what has gone wrong. And in the water before John, he declares to the world, “This is why I’m here. To change the world.”
And yet, we who follow him so often act as though nothing has changed. We live in fear and anxiety. We look upon others with the suspicion of danger, not the opportunity of mission and service. For almost two thousand years, we of the Church have failed to understand what Jesus was really about. We turned him into a moral scold, not the catalyst of the world’s transformation, not the bearer of life-out-of-death that he truly is.
And look at the world around us. Our legacy of failure. But our God is a god of infinite second chances. And as we remember the meaning and purpose of our own baptisms, it is helpful to remember that. Luther talks about the remembrance of our baptism as “daily dying and rising again.” Another try. Another chance to get it right. Another opportunity to help Christ change the world.
It’s not too late. The world needs the Church and it needs the Church to be the Church as it was meant to be. An instrument of justice and change and service and transformation. To be God’s instrument for the taking the world from what it was to what it’s meant to be. Amen.
Scripture texts: Isaiah 43:1-7, Luke 3:15-22
“How many Lutherans does it take to change a light bulb?” How many?
Change? We’re Lutherans. We don’t change.
It’s an old joke and one I imagine most every denomination of the Christian religion has a variation on. It is one of those great ironies of history that the Church became this bastion of conservative thought. Now I don’t mean “conservative” in a political sense like we usually hear in this election year, but rather in its literal form: a longing or eagerness to maintain the status quo. To keep things as they are. To do it “the way we’ve always done it.”
That’s not what the Church was meant to be. That’s not what Christianity was supposed to be about. That’s not what God’s about. His plan for our world was hardly “Let’s leave everything exactly the same as it was.” No, God’s been about transformation, about renewal, about regeneration, resurrection. In short, he’s about change.
Take our Isaiah text for instance. One of the great prophecies of God’s grace. God declares to his people their restoration. He will bring them from the lands far away and make them his own once more. He will protect them from all danger. He will give them the wealth and the respect of the nations. Does any of that sound like business as usual? Does it sound like keeping things the same?
No, God is on the move. He’s taking his people from exile. He’s giving them back what they’ve lost. He standing by them in the midst of trials. This is upheaval. This is transformation. This is change writ large. Because with God, you often don’t do things small. It’s “go big or go home.”
Today is the festival of our Lord’s Baptism. There is a long standing point about why Jesus chose to be baptized by John. The Gospels however give us those answers. They tell us what this is really about and what it’s about is God’s changing the world yet again.
In Matthew’s version of the story, John asks Jesus direct why he’s there and Jesus answers with the somewhat cryptic “it is proper for us in this way to fulfill all righteousness.” What does Jesus mean by that?
Luke’s version of the story, which we have today, may give us the answer. John the Baptist has spent a good dozen or so verses before our text today telling the people to change their ways (there’s that word again.) To repent. To live life in service to others. To give generously. To treat other with kindness and respect. And then along comes Jesus, claiming he’s there to fulfill all righteousness.
He’s come to do what John has asked of the people: To live his life for the sake of others. For the sake of all. To give himself as example to follow. To do perfectly what we cannot do and by doing so, change the world.
And he does just that. He goes from here into his ministry. He heals the sick, gives the blind the sight, makes the lame to walk. Hardly leaving things the status quo. To goes to the mountainside and into the plains and teaches vast crowds of people, telling them to trust in God, reminding them that God is working to transform the world for the better. He welcomes into his midst those the world has rejected, the sinner, the tax collector, the prostitute. He stands up to the old order, revealing their hypocrisies. Everywhere he goes, he changes things.
Even to the very cross. There goes to defeat death and sin forever. There he goes to break the worst part of our broken world. There he goes to win life out of death. There’s no status quo in the shadow of the cross or the empty tomb of Easter. EVERYTHING has changed.
When we bring our children to this font, we don’t just come to hear the promise of God, that he has claimed us as his own. That’s important, make no mistake. But we also come to make a pledge of our own. We claim we will raise these children in the life of faith. We promise to make of them, as best we can, good and faithful Christians. We make a promise and we dedicate ourselves to the fulfillment of that promise.
Jesus baptism, in that regard, is no different. He too comes to make a promise. He comes to promise to us that he will not leave us where we were. He will not leave the world as it was. He has come to transform everything. He has come to put right what has gone wrong. And in the water before John, he declares to the world, “This is why I’m here. To change the world.”
And yet, we who follow him so often act as though nothing has changed. We live in fear and anxiety. We look upon others with the suspicion of danger, not the opportunity of mission and service. For almost two thousand years, we of the Church have failed to understand what Jesus was really about. We turned him into a moral scold, not the catalyst of the world’s transformation, not the bearer of life-out-of-death that he truly is.
And look at the world around us. Our legacy of failure. But our God is a god of infinite second chances. And as we remember the meaning and purpose of our own baptisms, it is helpful to remember that. Luther talks about the remembrance of our baptism as “daily dying and rising again.” Another try. Another chance to get it right. Another opportunity to help Christ change the world.
It’s not too late. The world needs the Church and it needs the Church to be the Church as it was meant to be. An instrument of justice and change and service and transformation. To be God’s instrument for the taking the world from what it was to what it’s meant to be. Amen.
Wednesday, January 6, 2016
Weekly Devotional for January 3, 2016
Scripture reading: Matthew 2:1-12 (Appointed for January 6: The Festival of Epiphany)
I've long argued in preaching and teaching that our God is a god of surprises. He never does what people expect. He's always doing the unexpected, the surprising, the "hey, wait a minute..."
We see this throughout the Scriptures. For the father of his Chosen, he picks a man named Abram who is both aged and childless. For the liberator of his people, he picks an exiled murderer with a stuttering problem named Moses. The greatest king of his people is not some virile Adonis, but the ruddy youngest son of Jesse, so inconsequential that he's forgotten when Samuel comes to anoint the new king. Jesus calls a tax collector and (according to the traditions) a prostitute to be among his most devoted followers.
The story of Jesus' birth fits this pattern. The king of kings, the savior of the world, is born not in a palace, but in a manger: the feeding troth of animals. His birth, the most monumental event in human history, is not welcomed by the high and mighty, but by slaves and shepherds. And while Luke tells us those same shepherds told what they had witnessed far and wide, it doesn't seem they were listened to by very many.
Which bring us to Matthew's version of the Christmas story. Strangers from the east, diviners and sorcerers of the Persian court, arrive as a diplomatic envoy to the court of King Herod, seeking the newborn King of the Jews. This news of a new king is utter shock to everyone in Jerusalem. They didn't have a clue.
Does anyone else note the irony here? The Jews, the remnant of the Chosen Hebrews, those most steeped in the Scriptures, those most familiar with the prophecies of Messiah, had utterly missed that Christ had been born in their very midst. And the only people who seemed to realize this monumental event were these foreigners, followers of the Zoroastrian religion, who knew next to nothing of Yahweh and his holy Word.
God did it again. Gotcha! Surprise!
The Christmas story is hardly the last time God has done this. The most influential Christian of the early Church, the one who wrote the majority of the New Testament, was a former persecutor of Christianity. The one who denied Christ three times goes willingly to his martyrdom for the sake of the Gospel. These fishermen and commoners who Jesus called disciple and apostle spread as far as India and Europe to spread the Gospel they'd embraced. Surprise after surprise.
Even today, God continues to zing us with his surprises, showing the wonders of his grace.
Which is one the reasons I get so discouraged by the fear and prejudice I see in so much of the Church today. How do we know that Muslim might not become the instrument of God's work in the world tomorrow? How do we know that immigrant might not become the means by which God brings a new cure for disease into the world? The least likely people have been chosen time and again to be God's hands in the world. If the magi can proclaim Christ's birth, what can't God do with any of us?
The author of Hebrews warns us to be ever welcoming, since angels do appear in disguise in our midst. God is ever at work in our world, constant in his love of surprise. Hey, people, watch this...and then wonders unfold before us. Sinners do amazing work of righteousness. The mute speak. The deaf hear. The lame walk anew. Open your eyes and your heart and God will surprise you too.
I've long argued in preaching and teaching that our God is a god of surprises. He never does what people expect. He's always doing the unexpected, the surprising, the "hey, wait a minute..."
We see this throughout the Scriptures. For the father of his Chosen, he picks a man named Abram who is both aged and childless. For the liberator of his people, he picks an exiled murderer with a stuttering problem named Moses. The greatest king of his people is not some virile Adonis, but the ruddy youngest son of Jesse, so inconsequential that he's forgotten when Samuel comes to anoint the new king. Jesus calls a tax collector and (according to the traditions) a prostitute to be among his most devoted followers.
The story of Jesus' birth fits this pattern. The king of kings, the savior of the world, is born not in a palace, but in a manger: the feeding troth of animals. His birth, the most monumental event in human history, is not welcomed by the high and mighty, but by slaves and shepherds. And while Luke tells us those same shepherds told what they had witnessed far and wide, it doesn't seem they were listened to by very many.
Which bring us to Matthew's version of the Christmas story. Strangers from the east, diviners and sorcerers of the Persian court, arrive as a diplomatic envoy to the court of King Herod, seeking the newborn King of the Jews. This news of a new king is utter shock to everyone in Jerusalem. They didn't have a clue.
Does anyone else note the irony here? The Jews, the remnant of the Chosen Hebrews, those most steeped in the Scriptures, those most familiar with the prophecies of Messiah, had utterly missed that Christ had been born in their very midst. And the only people who seemed to realize this monumental event were these foreigners, followers of the Zoroastrian religion, who knew next to nothing of Yahweh and his holy Word.
God did it again. Gotcha! Surprise!
The Christmas story is hardly the last time God has done this. The most influential Christian of the early Church, the one who wrote the majority of the New Testament, was a former persecutor of Christianity. The one who denied Christ three times goes willingly to his martyrdom for the sake of the Gospel. These fishermen and commoners who Jesus called disciple and apostle spread as far as India and Europe to spread the Gospel they'd embraced. Surprise after surprise.
Even today, God continues to zing us with his surprises, showing the wonders of his grace.
Which is one the reasons I get so discouraged by the fear and prejudice I see in so much of the Church today. How do we know that Muslim might not become the instrument of God's work in the world tomorrow? How do we know that immigrant might not become the means by which God brings a new cure for disease into the world? The least likely people have been chosen time and again to be God's hands in the world. If the magi can proclaim Christ's birth, what can't God do with any of us?
The author of Hebrews warns us to be ever welcoming, since angels do appear in disguise in our midst. God is ever at work in our world, constant in his love of surprise. Hey, people, watch this...and then wonders unfold before us. Sinners do amazing work of righteousness. The mute speak. The deaf hear. The lame walk anew. Open your eyes and your heart and God will surprise you too.
Monday, January 4, 2016
Sermon for Second Christmas
Preached at Canadochly Lutheran Church on January 3, 2016
Scripture text: John 1:1-18
As many of you saw on Christmas Eve, I’ve been struggling with some back and leg pain from sciatica. I had to do the Christmas service sitting down for the most part. Well, as you can imagine, that didn’t go away overnight (Still hasn’t entirely.) I spent much of my Christmas visit with my family in WV in seated position as well, which produced a small problem when my mother was insistent that she play the part of the dutiful grandmother to Emily on Dec 26. She wanted to take all of us, but most especially Emily, shopping.
What to do about me? Well, a joke was made about digging out my late grandfather’s old wheelchair and using it. I took it seriously. Why not? It would let me tag along. So I spent several hours that day wheeling about the mall and learning a small bit about what it means to live like that. I can’t say I have a complete picture of what life is like for someone differently-abled, but I did learn a thing or two. I discovered how tricky simple tasks like opening doors can be. I saw the looks on people’s faces, how children suddenly seemed to love me and how most adults just ignored me. It was interesting, a true learning experience.
We’ve all heard the old saying that if you’re going to judge someone, you should first walk a mile in his shoes. Now, of course, as Christians, we should really not be standing in judgment over other people (That’s God’s prerogative, after all). But human nature being what it is, it is probably better for us when we do judge to try to figure out what’s going on behind a person’s or a group’s actions and motives. What is their life really like? What is it that makes them do what they do? Why do they think the way they do? What sort of circumstances, experiences, and situations have informed their opinions and behaviors?
Unfortunately, those questions are almost never asked. It takes too long. It takes too much energy. We almost always presume that other people have the exact same sort of lives that we have. The same sort of experiences. The same allotment of resources and gifts. The same...well, pretty much everything. And yet, we should know better. Even the most basic application of logic and reason should tell us that we’re all different, but we almost never go there.
For instance, there was a lot of eye-rolling going on some weeks ago when Donald Trump was speaking about his business history. He mentioned to a crowd of his supporters that he had some help along the way; his father gave him a small loan to get started in the business world. A small loan, really small: just a million dollars. Small.
Or how about our esteemed senators in congress? Those who say that $150,000 a year salary is simply not enough to live on.
We laugh at and mock these sorts of statements and opinions because it is clear that these people don’t get it. They have no idea what it means to be like us. To be like you or like me. But what we don’t realize is that any of us who have a bit of fortune or privilege in life can be just as blind when we’re talking about those who’ve not been so lucky.
Men telling women there isn’t a problem with rape culture or misogyny on the Internet or a pay gap in the workplace. Yeah, like we men know what it’s like to be a woman. White folk telling black people how to fix all their problems. It be so easy. Racism isn’t real. We white folk, we said so. We know. We white folk know exactly what it’s like to be black.
Except we don’t. We don’t any more of a clue about their lives than those millionaires and billionaires have about us. Honestly, do we really understand what it’s like to live in the ghetto, caught between criminals on one side and often suspicious (or hostile) law enforcement on the other? Do we understand what it’s like to be thought of as a criminal in everything we do just because our skin is darker? Can we honestly claim that we know what that’s like?
Or do we know what it’s like to have our homes bombed? Our businesses destroyed. Our families killed. Do we know what it’s like to flee the horror of war as a refugee to strange land with alien customs and language? Do we know what it’s like to run away knowing we might never see our home again? Do we have any clue what that is like?
Do we know what it’s like to live in grueling poverty in the Third World? To live in garbage, to drink sewage, and to be under constant threat from corrupt governments or criminal cartels? Do we know what it’s like to run away from all that to a land that claims among its ideals to be a land of opportunity for all people, only to be looked down upon as a parasite? To be forced into slave labor jobs, ever fearful that someone might catch you and send you back into that nightmare you fled from? Do we know what that’s like? Can we claim we understand what it means to come to this country as an illegal immigrant? Do we know?
No, none of us have a clue. Their experiences, their behaviors, their circumstances are as alien to us as all the space monsters in every sci-fi story ever written. We can’t know, because none of us have ever been through any of that. We’ve been fortunate, living as we have as white Christian Americans of reasonable (if not exceptional) means. We’ve dodged all those bullets.
I bring all this up because this is really the problem the Incarnation is meant to solve. We talk about God being “all-knowing,” but as I’ve pointed out there is a big difference between knowing something because we’ve read about it in a book or a newspaper and knowing something because we lived through it. Therefore, in order to understand humanity, God had become one of us.
And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us...
All the highs and lows of the human experience were now his to live. The good and the bad. Jesus knows the pride of hearing a parent’s praise. He knows the pain of stubbing your toe or scraping your knee because you fell down. I imagine he fell down...a lot as a toddler, just like all of us did.
He knows the pleasure of friendship with his disciples and with Lazarus and Mary and Martha. He also knows heartache in the death of Lazarus or the betrayal of Judas or the denial of Peter. He knows the joy of success when the crowds flock to him by the thousands and he knows the frustration of failure when the Pharisees just won’t listen.
He knows feast and fun, at the dinner table with friends, at the wedding at Cana. And he knows famine and suffering, in the wilderness temptation and, of course, on the cross. He knows life and he knows death.
He went through it all. Just like we do. Just like you did. Just like I did. All the width and breadth of the human experience, Jesus went through.
We have this tendency to think of God as being up there, cozy in some far-away heaven. But the Jesus experience proves that God truly is down here in the muck and the mire with us. He knows what it’s like to be us. To hurt. To laugh. To cry. To rage. All of it. God is not detached or disinterested from our lives. He’s lived our life. He became human so he could learn what it means to be us.
He wanted that. He wanted and continues to want to be that close to us. To be where we are, in the midst of our lives. To give a fist pump when we triumph or to pull us into his arms when things go south. He loves us and when you love something you don’t want to be far away. You want to be right there.
Well, God’s right here. He came among us. He lived among us. He died among us. And because he rose again, he will be among us forever. Amen.
Scripture text: John 1:1-18
As many of you saw on Christmas Eve, I’ve been struggling with some back and leg pain from sciatica. I had to do the Christmas service sitting down for the most part. Well, as you can imagine, that didn’t go away overnight (Still hasn’t entirely.) I spent much of my Christmas visit with my family in WV in seated position as well, which produced a small problem when my mother was insistent that she play the part of the dutiful grandmother to Emily on Dec 26. She wanted to take all of us, but most especially Emily, shopping.
What to do about me? Well, a joke was made about digging out my late grandfather’s old wheelchair and using it. I took it seriously. Why not? It would let me tag along. So I spent several hours that day wheeling about the mall and learning a small bit about what it means to live like that. I can’t say I have a complete picture of what life is like for someone differently-abled, but I did learn a thing or two. I discovered how tricky simple tasks like opening doors can be. I saw the looks on people’s faces, how children suddenly seemed to love me and how most adults just ignored me. It was interesting, a true learning experience.
Image from Wikihow
We’ve all heard the old saying that if you’re going to judge someone, you should first walk a mile in his shoes. Now, of course, as Christians, we should really not be standing in judgment over other people (That’s God’s prerogative, after all). But human nature being what it is, it is probably better for us when we do judge to try to figure out what’s going on behind a person’s or a group’s actions and motives. What is their life really like? What is it that makes them do what they do? Why do they think the way they do? What sort of circumstances, experiences, and situations have informed their opinions and behaviors?
Unfortunately, those questions are almost never asked. It takes too long. It takes too much energy. We almost always presume that other people have the exact same sort of lives that we have. The same sort of experiences. The same allotment of resources and gifts. The same...well, pretty much everything. And yet, we should know better. Even the most basic application of logic and reason should tell us that we’re all different, but we almost never go there.
For instance, there was a lot of eye-rolling going on some weeks ago when Donald Trump was speaking about his business history. He mentioned to a crowd of his supporters that he had some help along the way; his father gave him a small loan to get started in the business world. A small loan, really small: just a million dollars. Small.
Or how about our esteemed senators in congress? Those who say that $150,000 a year salary is simply not enough to live on.
We laugh at and mock these sorts of statements and opinions because it is clear that these people don’t get it. They have no idea what it means to be like us. To be like you or like me. But what we don’t realize is that any of us who have a bit of fortune or privilege in life can be just as blind when we’re talking about those who’ve not been so lucky.
Men telling women there isn’t a problem with rape culture or misogyny on the Internet or a pay gap in the workplace. Yeah, like we men know what it’s like to be a woman. White folk telling black people how to fix all their problems. It be so easy. Racism isn’t real. We white folk, we said so. We know. We white folk know exactly what it’s like to be black.
Except we don’t. We don’t any more of a clue about their lives than those millionaires and billionaires have about us. Honestly, do we really understand what it’s like to live in the ghetto, caught between criminals on one side and often suspicious (or hostile) law enforcement on the other? Do we understand what it’s like to be thought of as a criminal in everything we do just because our skin is darker? Can we honestly claim that we know what that’s like?
Or do we know what it’s like to have our homes bombed? Our businesses destroyed. Our families killed. Do we know what it’s like to flee the horror of war as a refugee to strange land with alien customs and language? Do we know what it’s like to run away knowing we might never see our home again? Do we have any clue what that is like?
Do we know what it’s like to live in grueling poverty in the Third World? To live in garbage, to drink sewage, and to be under constant threat from corrupt governments or criminal cartels? Do we know what it’s like to run away from all that to a land that claims among its ideals to be a land of opportunity for all people, only to be looked down upon as a parasite? To be forced into slave labor jobs, ever fearful that someone might catch you and send you back into that nightmare you fled from? Do we know what that’s like? Can we claim we understand what it means to come to this country as an illegal immigrant? Do we know?
No, none of us have a clue. Their experiences, their behaviors, their circumstances are as alien to us as all the space monsters in every sci-fi story ever written. We can’t know, because none of us have ever been through any of that. We’ve been fortunate, living as we have as white Christian Americans of reasonable (if not exceptional) means. We’ve dodged all those bullets.
I bring all this up because this is really the problem the Incarnation is meant to solve. We talk about God being “all-knowing,” but as I’ve pointed out there is a big difference between knowing something because we’ve read about it in a book or a newspaper and knowing something because we lived through it. Therefore, in order to understand humanity, God had become one of us.
And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us...
All the highs and lows of the human experience were now his to live. The good and the bad. Jesus knows the pride of hearing a parent’s praise. He knows the pain of stubbing your toe or scraping your knee because you fell down. I imagine he fell down...a lot as a toddler, just like all of us did.
He knows the pleasure of friendship with his disciples and with Lazarus and Mary and Martha. He also knows heartache in the death of Lazarus or the betrayal of Judas or the denial of Peter. He knows the joy of success when the crowds flock to him by the thousands and he knows the frustration of failure when the Pharisees just won’t listen.
He knows feast and fun, at the dinner table with friends, at the wedding at Cana. And he knows famine and suffering, in the wilderness temptation and, of course, on the cross. He knows life and he knows death.
He went through it all. Just like we do. Just like you did. Just like I did. All the width and breadth of the human experience, Jesus went through.
We have this tendency to think of God as being up there, cozy in some far-away heaven. But the Jesus experience proves that God truly is down here in the muck and the mire with us. He knows what it’s like to be us. To hurt. To laugh. To cry. To rage. All of it. God is not detached or disinterested from our lives. He’s lived our life. He became human so he could learn what it means to be us.
He wanted that. He wanted and continues to want to be that close to us. To be where we are, in the midst of our lives. To give a fist pump when we triumph or to pull us into his arms when things go south. He loves us and when you love something you don’t want to be far away. You want to be right there.
Well, God’s right here. He came among us. He lived among us. He died among us. And because he rose again, he will be among us forever. Amen.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)